Who Wants To Live Forever?
by mistamie
Summary: Al Jones, who has loved and lost, drifts through time trying not to get to close to anyone because he mysteriously never ages. Arthur lost his little colony centuries long ago. When fate unites them, possibly not for the first time, what will happen? USUK
1. Chapter 1

**This is a story that just wouldn't leave my head. Inspired by the queen song "Who Wants to Live Forever"**

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><p>"Alfred, love, what are you doing out here? You'll miss dinner if you don't hurry down from those rocks." The man tipped back his three-pointed hat, looking up at the boy sitting on the tallest of the boulders that were positioned at the edge of the town.<p>

"But what if the Sunshine man comes while I'm gone?" The boy, Alfred, who looked, for all accounts, a boy of seven, turned away from his lookout to the man standing on the ground. He blew some of his blonde hair out of his eyes, and stood from his squatting position, his knees scuffed and dirty, his brown overalls and white shirt dusty. His short ponytail blew behind him, along with one strand of hair that seemed to defy gravity. He pouted, wondering if he could use it to his advantage.

The man below crossed his arms over his brown overcoat, his eyes impatient, but kind. "Now Alfred, Mother won't be happy with either of us if you come to dinner late and filthy. Anna and Caroline are already scrubbed up, and here you are at the edge of town, sitting on a rock for hours watching whoever enters and leaves town. Alfred, I'm sure Sunshine man would want you be in good favor with Mother, and to eat your supper like a good boy. He'll want someone strong for the Royal Navy!" He extended his hand for Alfred, giving the boy a once over. "Ugh, and now the maid will have to mend your trousers. Come on, then."

Alfred sighed, finding no way to bargain his way out of this one. "Yes, Father." He climbed down from his perch carefully, and took the hand that was extended to him.

Every time he looked at his father, Alfred would see little visions, images of his father, except they would be of a younger, skinnier, man. It was almost as if Alfred had lived with his dad a long, long time, way longer than he was old, and could remember Father's voice before it had fully adopted its mature sound.

Alfred knew, to some extent, that his parents and his two sisters were different than him, that he was adopted. He'd realized this long ago along with other things. Everyone around him grew and aged; yet Alfred would slowly plow on. He remembered when Anna and Caroline were born, yet they were ten and twelve, and he still was seven. Even though he had a birthday every year too, he still didn't grow up. Yet he couldn't remember life before Father and Grandpapa had found him and brought him home to raise him as one of the family.

"Alfred?"

Alfred snapped out of his thoughts to look up at his father, curious. "What, Father?"

"Does Sunshine man have a name? You've talked about him for years, after we found you, and the war happened, but we've never known his real name. It might help us find him." Alfred continued to stare up at his adoptive father.

He finally pulled his gaze away, looking around him at the country path they were on. The leaves were turning, and the Massachusetts' area would soon explode into beauty. Alfred loved this time every year. But it also brought bad memories, which haunted his dreams, flashes of a time he couldn't quite make sense of.

He puzzled over his father's question for a while, trying to remember for the life of him Sunshine man's name. A mop of hair the color of the sun came to mind.

"_Promise you'll be back, A—?" Then he had reached his hand out towards the man, his name falling from his lips, although he could not hear its sound._

"_Of course, Alfred. I'll be back before you know it. And I'll bring you some sweets and maybe some big boy clothes!" There was that smile, that one that caused his heart to speed up with affection and ache of the thought of his leaving._

"_A—, I'm really going to m-miss you!"_

"_No tears, love…" The hand had gently rubbed his cheek…_

A pair of brilliant green eyes flashed in his mind's eye, along with the hair shining in the sun, brighter than any flame. But for the life of him, Alfred could not remember his name. That was why he'd called him Sunshine man in the first place. He could not remember whether he was a brother, a friend, a father. Just that he was Alfred's world, and that someday, he was going to come back for Alfred. And all Al had to remember him by was his memories and the small item in his pocket.

He pulled out the broken little wooden soldier, and turned over the small toy in his hands lovingly, trying to rub gently away the scorch marks that licked up the bottom edge of the wooden toy. "Father, I don't know his name. I don't think I ever will. It's right there, in my memories, but I can't…" Tears started to form in his eyes, and he stopped, whipping his hand under his nose. His father stopped as well, bending down and brushing away Alfred's bangs to meet his piercing sky blue eyes with his chocolate brown ones.

"Now, Alfred. You'll find him someday. Whether in this world, or the next, he'll be waiting for you. As long as you believe, not knowing his name or where he lives won't matter."

"But Father…how will I know…that it's him?"

He was pulled in for a hug, which he returned heartily, silently crying into his Father's shoulder. "You'll know, love, you'll know."

After a moment, his father asked him if they could go on, if he was ready. Alfred nodded, grasping his father's hand once more.

As they walked on, his father began to list off dinner. Alfred simply smiled up at the man. "I love you, father."

The man, startled a little by the sudden statement, smiled back. "I love you too, Alfred. Always will."

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><p>"Jones, we've got a job for you! A real position this time, and the boss just released…Alfred? Oh, sleeping on the job again, are we?" Jason threw the folder he held down onto the desk in front of him, Alfred sitting in a black swivel chair below him with a newspaper over his face, his long arms hanging listlessly at his side. A smirk decorated the conscious man's face, and he gripped the back of the flexible rolling chair and quickly shoved it downwards, toppling the sleeping blonde backwards onto the floor with a loud crash.<p>

"Fathe-Huh? Wha! Jason! Godammit, you little!" The man being cussed out was currently laughing his ass off, leaning against the desk to support himself. Alfred reached up and grabbed the desk, hoisting himself up, straightening his body, rolling his neck to get the kinks out. "I need more sleep…this job is so boring, how did I ever let you convince that this was worth my while?"

"Simple, Jones, you were so drunk, you kept calling me Franklin and told me that you'd have to try those new bi-focal's of mine. Even on your day off from that bar you still are in there! You need someone in your life, even if it is Ms. Day-job right now." Jason ran a hand through his slicked back black hair. "I would have said you need to get laid, but knowing you, that probably is a nightly occurrence with you."

"Well, sorry I work as the MC of that bar! I kinda do live above it, so you know how it is. And I don't get laid _every night_! Only, like, sometimes... those other days I sleep late. Plus, you know why I won't keep a relationship! Falling in love is so overrated when they'll just go off and die on you, leaving some pictures and painful memories behind that you'll never forget..." Alfred's drowsy face contorted into one of sadness, and he fiddled with a ring on his left hand, ring finger, one that looked suspiciously like a wedding ring, but Alfred never would answer any questions on it. He quickly recovered, though, the look quickly being masked with one of indignation. "And Benjamin made really good glasses! His stoves need work, though, those so weren't his greatest invention…" Alfred sat down in his righted chair, swiveling around to face his computer and terminal in general. He flipped open the folder lying in the middle of all his papers.

Jason watched Alfred's face out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to be entertained by the picture of Captain America on the wall opposite them. Alfred sure had made this cubicle his own. "Must be cool to have known Ben Franklin."

"Yeah, it was, but I wasn't so focused on him during that period in time. I kinda was fighting in a war…" Jason fixed the buttons on his jacket, giving Al a chance to react over what was in the folder.

Sometimes, he wondered why he'd ever offered Alfred this job. Probably because his best friend was this dude's…nephew twelve times removed? Adam Jones's relation to Alfred was always kind of fuzzy, they did have the same last name, and Alfred had been in the picture since the Jones family could remember, all the way back to the last traceable relative, Sarah Jones, whose husband's name was lost to all but Alfred, who wasn't talking. That man could _not_ talk about anything and everything, speaking to no one of his past, which must have been colorful.

He never spoke about Sarah, so the family just called him 'uncle', and believed him to be some relative of Sarah's husband, as the only thing known about the original Jones was his blue eyes which everyone had in that freaky family. It was the family secret that Alfred never aged…well, theirs and the government and Jason (who'd been like a part of the family since he was seven), bringing them back to the topic at hand.

"Jason, this is…this is a diplomatic position inside the UN! I know you are involved in the secret government stuff, but wasn't forcing me to accept the position as your lackey enough? I thought Adam had made that "I'm worried about Uncle Al" speech, so that was why you did all this, but…" Ahh, here it was, the time when Alfred would go off on how he wanted nothing to do with secret government deals, although his file told a different story about what the blonde had done during the Cold War. Another thing he wouldn't talk about, even if you drugged him.

"C'mon, Jones, be cool! The government has known who you are for, like, ages, literally! Plus, with the old geezer who goes to these meetings retiring, they need a new guy who won't be hospitalized for a month if he gets a chair to the head. I'm telling you, these diplomats, what you have there, they…" Jason trailed off, as Alfred looked through the paperwork, reading transcripts of prior meetings, his brows contorting in confusion.

"France said to Japan…? Germany began the meeting at eight…? _Prussia banned from attendance…?" _Alfred threw down the papers, and then looked up at Jason. "What am I supposed to get from this? Are all the diplomats put under a code by their country names?"

"Uh…well, Alfred, they are…well…they are like you. They've lived so long; they've become the embodiment of the countries they've served. That is why you were selected. I heard about…" Jason looked down sheepishly, "I heard the fact that they don't age, and how Adam had mentioned you. The higher-ups seemed to know about you and remarked about how you'd been of service during the wars, and asked me to locate you."

The blonde snorted, pushing himself away from the desk. "No, I never worked in diplomacy. And I told the government I would do nothing more for them then warn them when I felt anything stirring oddly. I always seem to have premonitions before things happen in this country, it seems."

"Oh, don't give me that! You have five different history and military majors and speak a _ton _of languages!"

"I was bored for two hundred years after the revolution, you know. I don't want to spend time with these "countries" just to entertain you and the government for a few weeks. They can't be like me, no one is like me, not in the three hundred years I remember have I met anyone like me." Was there a flash of pain in those blue eyes? Jason pushed it aside, and crouched down to pick up the newspaper he'd noticed sitting on the floor from when he'd flipped Alfred backwards. "Plus," Alfred continued, "If there is a representation for all these countries, not to say this isn't a bunch of hocus-pocus, then why isn't there an America?"

Jason stopped in his ascent with the newspaper, his mind pausing in hesitation. Should he tell him? He had a right to know. "Al, we once asked the exact same question of the other countries. Our answer was brief and vague. The England representative wouldn't tell us much, and none of the other countries will speak of the child, although the grave was located. When the government was alerted of your presence during the revolution, it was documented, and your identity was put down in the books in total secrecy. They didn't want to lose you as they lost the first immortal being in the country. They believe you to be of importance. Please, just give it a chance. You are the prime candidate."

Alfred gave him an unimpressed expression. "Aren't I always the prime candidate for every little thing the government needs a little bitch for?" And with that he dropped the folder back onto the desk, and swiveled to face away from the other man, shaking his mouse to pull up an unfinished game of Solitaire on his monitor.

Jason glared at the back of Alfred's head. So this was what he'd been doing when he'd fallen asleep. Some secretary he was, and Jason wished he'd just gotten a hot little vixen of an assistant like Adam had (although Adam didn't appreciate the little lady like Jason would have, being married and all), not some grouchy man. Then again, it meant his face remained free of slap-prints of said hot secretary's hand when he said something about her bosom (another thing Adam never had to experience, always so moral and polite and married and his best friend who he'd never want to change…)

"Just go and if you don't like it, fake your death _again_ this year and show up for work next Monday like usual. You don't have a choice otherwise. You. Are. Going."

"Wait, Monday, when is the meeting?"

"Tomorrow at eight. There is a suit in the closet and you are to be briefed at three." Jason smiled as he turned and began to walk away, hearing as Alfred sputtered in his chair, "I kinda was going to tell you yesterday to prepare, and possibly be able to turn this down, but I decided let that slip after you told my perspective date that the reason why I had told her I had to work late the other night was the fact I had to go to the doctors for herpes medication." He exited the room for his lunch break, satisfied with his revenge, hearing Alfred shout out after him.

"HEY! You were the one who told everyone at the bar that I liked gay midget porn! I've never heard the end of it!"

"So you finally admit your secret fetish! Kudos! You're more of a man than I thought!"

He ran gleefully down the hall, streaking towards the safe haven of the executive offices, Alfred chasing after him. The rest of the office was used to a sight such as this, and simply ignored the two.

The briefing went for over an hour, and was quite detailed. Mostly, it was about what not to say, who was in cahoots with who, and who to butter up. What they were even to be discussing at the meeting was put under 'secondary information' on his little agenda.

"And starting anything between Mr. Kirkland and Mr. Bonnefey isn't appreciated, got it. Threatening who will get you hospitalized…? Sorry, I can't remember the names."

"The Swiss man, Vash Zwingli, the Russian, Ivan Braginski, and the supposed Prussian representative, who is banned, Gilbert Beilschmidt. Try not to get them angry, the UN just renovated that meeting room for the second time in a year." The severe woman who'd explained all this stuck a pencil in the bun at the back of her head, picked up her papers, and walked out with a nod, the meeting over.

Alfred sighed. The things he did for the country he loved. Now, for dinner with Adam and the wife.

He slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, wrapped his scarf around his neck, and headed out into the rather chill October air, going down three staircases and out the main door.

It wasn't that he didn't _like_ Adam's wife, she was a lovely woman, indeed, she made Adam very happy, and Alfred liked it when his favorite nephew was happy. And soon, they would probably be the first to have startling blue-eyed children in their generation, which Alfred thought of as the 'after 1980' group. When you see so many generations, you had to start naming them.

No, the real problem with Emma was who she reminded him of. He twisted the ring on his hand, the _wedding_ ring, the one that the family had been asking after for two hundred years. Even Jason was taking an interest, the little scalawag. Jason Russo, the family friend, another person Alfred would have to watch die. He gripped the ring tighter, pain he hadn't felt in a long time surfacing, bubbling in his chest.

Yep, he was definitely going to drink on the job at the bar tonight. After all, he could still entertain the patrons buzzed, right?

He walked into the restaurant, surrounded by people, but in his heart, he felt so alone.

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><p><strong>This is my newest Fic, and I thank all of you who read it and ask if you could please review. The next chapter is written, and I will try to balance this one with my other two stories. This one just needed to be written.<strong>

**Alfred will be a little more cynical, due his idea that anyone who comes into his life will go off and die on him, so he'll be a little pessimistic for awhile before a certain Brit gets to him :)**

**Fun Fact: The Encyclopedia Britannica has been American owned for a century.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh, I don't own Hetalia. Anyway, there is a bit of a pattern with these chapters, there being one section from the past, and one from the future. This will probably be the form for the rest of the chapters until the two timelines meet together. THANK YOU TO ALL WHO REVIEWED! Seileach, DrMaggie, BMS, HetaFan, Jet Set Radio Yoyo, and Haruka Hoshine! Thanks to all who faved and alerted!**

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><p>Men were talking in hushed tones, discussing last minute changes and what it would mean for the parties involved. Arthur turned away from the table where the treaty had been signed, his mind elsewhere. He idly wondered what Alfred was up to at the moment. Was he playing with the village children? Had his housekeeper taken him to market? Was he climbing trees, or running through the open field that was his home? Whatever he was doing, it probably was more interesting than what Arthur was doing. How Arthur longed to just run away from Europe forever and travel those fields with Alfred together.<p>

Arthur absentmindedly tugged on his pristine uniform, although fidgeting was against the manners of a proper gentleman. He'd much rather be spending time with Alfred any day than be stuck waiting for Louis XV to sign some pompous treaty, ending the Seven Year's War, or as the colonists in America seemed to call it, the French and Indian. Alfred's town was quite far from the New York border, sheltered away inland behind hills and trees, so the fighting probably had never come within fifty miles of him. Good, Alfred should remain innocent and free for as long as possible, and should grow up free of fear that his life may destroyed by invaders. Stability was something Arthur had grown up without.

Francis was across the room, his face one of anguish, his hair and clothes of a fine quality but in extreme disarray. Arthur remembered that he should be grateful he'd won the war, as Francis had lost both that, and his little Matthew with the signing of this treaty, and had only just recently learned of this. There had been debate of taking different parts of New France, but in the end, the complaints of New England residents had been enough to sway the King of England to taking the land north of the protestant stronghold, and Francis was so distraught he wouldn't speak with any of the British delegates, as if it were the collective British people's fault. Arthur didn't blame him. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose Alfred, and he was glad he wouldn't have to face that like Francis would.

Arthur thought about it for a while, and he decided that even though he hated the bloody frog, he would be a gentleman and would be kind for once in his life to show he was working himself out of his privateer (read: pirate) stage. After the treaty signing was over, and all the officials would begin to file out of the building to pack up their entourage and leave Paris, Arthur would stop Francis and force him to speak with him.

'_I'll tell him that he can visit... Matthew, right, I'll tell him he can visit the lad once every couple of years under supervision. Maybe around Easter I'll let him. My boss wants it so they will never see each other again, but if it were Alfred and I…"_ Arthur thought.

But when it came time to put his plan into action, the overly dressed men leaving, their faces grim and anxious, he found Francis no longer in the room. Francis had already left. Maybe he couldn't bear to watch his little one signed away in defeat. Maybe he was sneaking off to see Matthew one more time. Either way, Arthur would see him later, so he didn't worry. No, he would write him a quick note, then he was heading home to England to begin packing for his extended trip to the new world and his first chance to see Alfred in eight years.

When he did set out three excited weeks later, he had chests filled with clothes, furnishings, sweets, all sorts of goodies his little Alfred would love. But first, he was to make a royal visit to Matthew, tell him of his new mother country, comfort the boy, then he could have his three month vacation with Alfred, maybe bring the two boys together the last month before he would be heading back. He had his suspicions that the boys were brothers, or at least looked somewhat like each other, as Francis once had described Matthew to look a lot like Alfred.

He thought about the letter he'd left with Francis' most trusted servant, the one outlining his concession of once every three years visitation. Arthur really had gone out of his way. Would Francis think him weak for it? Would he try to take advantage of the situation, try to influence the boy or sway his loyalties?

But every time he thought about reneging the offer, he would think of Alfred, smiling up at him. Francis loved Matthew just as much. It wouldn't surprise him if Francis had left immediately after the meeting to see Matthew before the treaty could be announced, trying to get in his last memories of his little boy before he was no longer welcome in New France.

It seemed to take forever, but Arthur's ship landed on schedule. He looked around him. Canada looked no different from the colonies to the south.

The boy's house was a pretty little house near the river, built well out of wood, and he could see a fire in the hearth, along with a serving girl beating one of the few rugs. In this area, the treaty had been enacted a week before Arthur had arrived, and no one stood in his way as he made it up the porch steps, knocking politely on the door.

A serving girl answered, the same one who'd been beating the rug, and her eyes widened. She must not have seen him alone on his horse. He introduced himself, and asked if he could come in, taking off his hat. She simply nodded, taking his hat and bowing, went to go prepare him a cup of tea. He sat down on the nice furniture, and looked around him. He saw by the stairs a little face, almost unnoticeable.

"Are you Matthew?" He smiled, and leaning with his elbows on his knees, he waved to the little boy who grasped the poles of the banister until his knuckles were white. He looked like a smaller Alfred, slightly more feminine, but like his twin in appearance any other way.

The boy looked scared, and Arthur tried to make himself look less threatening. Matthew stared at him nonetheless for a couple moments before speaking. "J-je ne c-comprends pas."

Oh. Arthur hadn't realized that would be a problem. The maid had understood him…although he'd just said hello and his name, and that wasn't really that hard. He kept forgetting the fact that it was France that had settled here. "Je suis désolé, mais je ne parle pas beaucoup de français. Je m'appelle Arthur."

Matthew seemed to calm down a little now that Arthur was speaking French, and he moved a little off the staircase. "Why are you here?" he asked in French.

Arthur answered in French as well. "I am your new…I don't the word…guardian…? Is that the word? Francis—"

"Papa! Papa came a while ago, he was sad and mad at the same time. He ta-told me that a mean man was coming for me, that b-bad men were coming, but Papa was going to try and st-top them…did he?" The little blond boy rubbed a teary eye. "Why are there bad men coming? Why did P-papa go away?"

Arthur got up and picked up the boy as he began to cry, feeling the same feeling of protectiveness and love as he had with Alfred, although not to the same degree, he could see how Matthew was going to worm his own way into Arthur's heart, just like Alfred had about sixty years ago. "Oh, Matthew, I'll protect you from all the bad men. Papa Francis can't protect you like he used to, but you'll get to see him again, I promise. There were bad men who are making Papa stay away, but until he can come back, will you let me do his job?"

Matthew looked into his eyes for a moment, his purple ones studying him with a scrutiny that Arthur had never felt the likes of before. It was almost like Matthew could see into his soul. "Papa Arthur?"

Arthur balked at the word 'papa'. That was a lot like when Alfred had tried to call him brother. "Just Arthur, Francis is your papa, even though you'll be living with me." He couldn't be a father. He'd never had one, and that was as big a responsibility as being a brother.

"Just Arthur." And Matthew fell asleep in his arms.

The maid was surprised to see Matthew, who didn't trust just anyone, asleep on his new guardian's shoulder.

He left two days afterwards, telling Matthew he was going visit someone else, and maybe they would get to meet each other soon. Arthur smiled as he hugged Matthew goodbye. He was getting fond of the boy who had drawn out the dormant kindness from Arthur's cold shell in a way only North American colonies seemed to be able to. But there was no doubt who he loved most in the world.

His little Alfred was his everything, and while he would come to love Mattie, his most loved and favorite would always be Alfred, his happiness, his escape from the world, the one who had no other but Arthur. Mattie might come to love Arthur, but Francis held first place in the boy's heart, Arthur only a substitute. Alfred was his and only his, and he wasn't going to let anyone take him away.

He was in Massachusetts about a week and a half later, starting up the hill to visit his little brother who he'd been waiting to see for eight years.

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><p>Alfred adjusted his suit in the mirror of his flat above the bar he worked at, studying it in the lamplight. It wasn't bad, finely made and tailored, but then again, those were things Alfred didn't like unless they meant skin-tight jeans. I mean, he lived and worked at a bar, doing every type of job from bartender to piano player. Suits were more something of long-ago hatred.<p>

He'd originally learned the piano because he needed to go under cover, and no one suspected the bar piano player in the middle of nowhere. He'd picked up it back up on a whim when he found himself thinking too much about the past…he twirled the ring around his finger once more. No, he couldn't think about that, or it would cause his throat to close up, his eyes to blur, and his heart to ache. Needless to say, he was good, and his long, exact memory allowed him to play all sorts of pieces. He wasn't classically trained, but good enough to play in a bar and sing along with songs. Now he only played when there was a request or there was no entertainment (like stand-up comedians, band night, or trivia games). Usually he worked the bar, waited tables, or introduced said entertainment.

It wasn't like bartending or MC-ing in a bar in NYC was his dream, he just needed something to do, and he had a long friendship with the owner, who would welcome him back every couple of years, not asking questions when he posed as his own twin, younger brother, or cousin, always named Alfred. It gave him a stable home, and a stable job outside the government. (He'd been drunk when he'd accepted Jason's job offer to work for the Fed., and instead of quitting, had made it his duty to make the Italian-American's life hell. What were not-really-your-uncle uncles for?)

Alfred checked his watch. Twenty minutes, then he'd have to be on his way to the stupid meeting. Who wasn't he supposed to upset? Ivan Swilglie? Whatever, it wasn't that important. He'd been shot in the leg, the arm, the chest, the leg, fallen off a six story building, and caught a knife with his stomach (read: stabbed). He could handle whatever they put against him. What were these guys going to do anyway?

He took his ring off and zipped it into a small hidden pocket behind his driver's license he'd had custom made. He then slipped his half of a wooden soldier (the other half missing for three hundred and fifty years, probably dirt somewhere, along with the bones of the mysterious Sunshine man he'd given up waiting for) into his pocket. He never went anywhere without it. And he had been the only one to touch it in centuries.

He causally went down the steps, ignoring the bar door for the back entrance. He'd worked last night against his better judgment, and now he needed a coffee, and not one of those decaf ones. No, he was gonna give them the full Alfred.

He yawned as he slung his new briefcase over his shoulder, covering his mouth with his free hand in a half-hearted gesture. "Man, this day is gonna suck." He laughed tiredly, having slightly amused himself.

He walked into the United Nations building with no expression of awe on his face, sipping his coffee, staring at the elevator with a mask of uncaring disinterest. He stepped into the elevator and rode all the way to the top floor, his ID pass apparently letting him go anywhere from its place in his pocket.

His nephew Adam stepped into the elevator on about the seventh floor, pressed and orderly, the prime example of a higher up government official who was good at what he did and liked being snazzy while doing it. Or, in Adam's case, was a neat freak.

"Timed it, didn't you?" Alfred said, humorlessly.

"No, I got the alert you entered the building after all. I was waiting for the headline this morning to be "Man jumps off building into river, body yet to be identified". You do that any other time we ask you to do things."

"What do you mean? I've done so much for my country; I should be elevated to hero-status." Alfred leaned against the wall as the elevator resumed its climb, thinking about how he'd much rather be saving people from crime than diplomatic immunity.

"Listen, I know you didn't want to do this, but…thanks. It really helps. Here's the room number, I have a meeting of my own two floors below if you need anything. And it would be prudent not to tell the other representatives about the fact that you are immortal. It might upset them." Adam smiled up at Alfred, their identical blue eyes meeting. "Good luck Uncle Alfred!" And then he stepped out, letting Alfred spend the last couple seconds to the room alone.

Alfred didn't really know what to expect. He'd been off the scene since the fall of the Soviet Union, but he'd never dealt with anything remotely close to diplomacy since the 1800's. This wasn't really that big of a deal, though, since he really didn't want the job, but no one was going to call Alfred Jones incompetent.

He always sounded so cynical when he was all by himself. Maybe that was because being cheerful for others everyday for his job (not his day job, god no) left him drained and empty. Or maybe it was because he was better prepared for grief in this permanent state of mind. But then again, when he held the newest additions to the family, he would light up, and all the pain would be worth it. Alfred was still true to his nature, he guessed, he just needed that light back.

Or maybe it was just his day job and the government.

Oh, wait, that's what it was. Alfred laughed quietly to himself, pushing aside centuries of pain subconsciously as the caffeine took effect in his system. His mood began to get better. Boy, were they never going to invite him ever again now that he was starting his caffeine hype.

He arrived to the room early, and so he looked around the table for his name card. He was toward the front, next to a Mr. Honda and a Mr. Kirkland. Alfred sat down, and pulled out his papers, but after checking his watch, discovering it to be 7:30, started to doodle on the back of his notes sheet with the mechanical pencil he discovered in his briefcase.

He drew a superhero with an American flag as a cape and named him THE HERO! That was a fantasy he lived to imagine in his mind, that he was a hero, and how he was going to save all the world's problems one by one.

But that was just a fantasy.

"Excuse me, sir, but are you the new American representative?" Alfred lloked up to find he wasn't the only person in the room anymore. He smiled sheepishly, caught doodling, and he stood up, extending his hand.

"Yes, yes I am. My name is Alfred Jones, but please, just call me Al."

The man, a dark haired Asian, took his hand with a polite shake. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jones. I am surprised to see one as young as yourself here. I wish you the best of luck."

Alfred nodded, and he chuckled. "The glasses really don't make me look that much older, do they?"

At that, the man, sitting in the chair next to him, smiled, and Alfred turned around to see more people make their way through the conference room.

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><p><strong>And there it is. I am in such a muse these days, this story is all I think about in chem class. Boring, boring chem class.<strong>

**Fun Fact: The word 'prepone' in Indian-English (as opposed to American or British English) means to reschedule for an earlier date (opposite of postpone). This word is unique to this type of English.**

**PLEASE REVIEW, IT SPURS ON MY CREATIVE GENIUS! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Here you go! **

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><p>Alfred continued to greet people as they made their way into the conference room, and he noticed that many were surprised by his age. Technically, he didn't look like the youngest person there, that little kid quivering over in the corner looked 15, maybe less. But, then again, these guys all knew that the other people here were 'immortal', yet the US government sent a twenty year old with no real diplomatic experience to be their representative. This was going to be oh so very fun.<p>

He caught sight of the newest arrival, and he suddenly matched a name with the face. He must have been in one of the photos in the folder that had the stuff he'd been briefed on. How else would he see that face and that name go together perfectly? He walked up to the man who was the tallest in the room, his pale features making him stand out against the painted walls.

Alfred extended a hand, and the man looked down at him. Al ignored the intimidating stare, and smiled. "Mr. Oborski! Good to meet you!"

The man flinched, actually flinched, his hand half way to politely shake Alfred's. Their eyes met for a second, and Alfred was briefly confused. What had caused the man to freeze up like that?

"Err, Mr…"

"Jones, Al Jones, pleased to meet you."

"Ah…yes, Mr. Jones, I believe you are mistaken. My name is Ivan Braginski, not Oborski. I am sorry if you mistook me for someone else." There was the handshake, and then Alfred confusedly nodded. He'd been sure the man had been named Oborski, but apparently by other representatives' expressions he'd been wrong.

"Oh, I apologize, Braginski."

There was that look again. "It is no problem, Jones." The word 'Jones' sounded strangely off, but Alfred didn't call him on it.

As he turned away, shaking off the fleeting, brief embarrassment of being wrong, he didn't see those purple eyes following him across the room, curious about the American.

Ivan's eyes glanced over at the Baltic's; who had began to quiver as soon as the word "Oborski" had been mentioned. They were looking at him now, fear in their eyes. Of course they would be afraid. They should be afraid. This must be somehow their fault, for they were the only ones who knew the significance of that name. Well, them and maybe Mr. Jones, who might have been sending him some kind of message by it, although the man had looked honestly confused when he'd been corrected.

His eyes returned to the energetic blonde talking to that idiot Feliks, and had not Ivan been deep in thought, he would have laughed at the expression on the boy's face when he realized that although Feliks was wearing a skirt and had long blonde hair to go with his feminine features, he wasn't a girl. Why would one of those little Baltic's tell this kid to call him that? But was there any other possibility…? Unless…no. No, he couldn't…but he had to be…

How else would a twenty year old know the secret alias 'Mikhail Oborski', under which Ivan had used during in the Cold War to spy on the United States?

Alfred watched as the room filled up until there were only two empty desks. One across the way between the Northern Italian rep. (Why were there two? Oh, right, Italian unification. Garibaldi and whatnot.) and the Spaniard, who was talking with Italy #2. The other empty seat was the one next to him. He sat in his own seat, crossing his legs, wondering when his neighbor would show up. Mr. Kirkland, where were you?

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><p>Arthur woke up with a pounding headache, and he covered his eyes to the sunlight streaming through the window with the back of his hand. Curse the sun for screaming so brightly. He would report it to the neighborhood watch if it wouldn't stop peeping through his windows.<p>

Wait…this was the sun he was talking about. Ok, _way_ too much alcohol last night. And he couldn't report light to the neighborhood watch. He sat up with a groan. Then he realized the sheets were scratchier than his ever were, being specially laundered for softness. No, these weren't his expensive, high thread count sheets. These were hotel sheets. He looked around the room through squinting eyes. This was an American hotel, there was an American logo on the napkin beside the bed.

He looked at the clock. 8:30. Why was he in America again, and did he have somewhere to be before 12? If not, he was going back to sleep.

"Ahh, mon cher! You are awake!" Arthur spun around at the sound, hurting his neck and falling out of the bed onto the patterned carpet with a huff. He looked at Francis, climbing in his hotel window…from the window? What floor was his hotel room on again? Arthur made sure he was wearing nightclothes and that he hadn't been violated in his sleep with a quick glance and a pat down before clawing his way back onto the bed. He glared at Francis once he'd righted himself.

"Get. Out."

This caused the perverted blonde now sitting on the edge of the bed to chuckle. "After all I do for you, mon cher? I carry you drunk up here, resist the temptation to make l'amour with your drunken, uninhibited self, only staring at you for fifteen minutes while I dressed you in those atrocious green nightclothes, and what you tell me first thing in the morning is 'get out'? Really, if we weren't already thirty minutes late for the meeting, I would leave your sorry derrière here."

Arthur paled. The MEETING! How could he forget! The all important meeting! And the new American Representative would be there, and Arthur had been given special orders to arrange for the rep to come to England the following month to discuss new terms for the 'special relationship' the US and the UK had.

And Arthur had gotten drunk like some git of a rookie. It probably was Francis' fault somehow, though.

Everything that went wrong was Francis' fault.

Arthur started to curse and Francis for being a bloody frog and not waking him up sooner. "What the hell were you doing out there anyway while I was asleep?" Arthur asked as he pulled on a pair of pants, for once not caring that France was watching him dress.

"Watching you sleep. You are so peaceful, so innocent when you sleep," Francis replied, his perverted grin adorning his face. Arthur stopped mid tie tying to look at him.

"You sick fuck." He caught sight of his haggard appearance in the mirror as he checked himself over, the bags under his eyes, the pale, taught, skin. Didn't he look like a ray of sunshine. Then again, it had been years since he had looked fully there.

They ran down the hotel steps, Arthur shrugging on his suit jacket, holding his suitcase in hand, Francis smoothing down his bed head mop of hair even though he's getting glared at with an eye threat of 'you'll pay for this frog, so don't think you can touch me like that for much longer'.

The two of them ran down the street, dodging other pedestrians as their nice dress shoes slapped the pavement, eliciting a complaint from Francis about how Arthur was the cause of two ruined pairs of shoes this week (apparently, Arthur had thrown-up last night at Francis' feet, and that was the first little pleasure Arthur felt that morning, if only at Francis' irritation), and by the time they make it onto the subway the both of them are out of breath. Arthur was wheeling from the hangover he apparently had, although he can't remember the drinking he did to get it, and he begins to wish that he had grabbed some hangover meds from the convenient store they'd ran past.

"Francis, why did I get drunk last night when I obviously knew we had a meeting this morning?" Arthur asked as he swayed, holding onto the metal bar as the subway took a sharp turn, sending his stomach into turmoil. (He hoped he wouldn't throw up for a second time, although it would be amusing to see Francis' face, it still would be unpleasant, and they would be even more tardy for the meeting).

Francis sighed. "You started to think about the past too much, and I wasn't there to stop you." They both knew about Arthur's drinking problem and about how it always got worse around this time of year, Fall being the season that…

No. Arthur wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't going to breakdown in public. _'Remember who you are, Arthur. You are England, you are the United Kingdom, you are stronger than this pain.'_ All Arthur saw was a blurry smiling face and a laugh that made his heart warm, yet rip apart at the same time.

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><p>A man stood up at the front table. "It appears zat both England und France are late, und I have received a cellular message that they vill be arriving in the next twenty minutes, so for the benefit of our newest member, we vill wait, but after they arrive, we vill begin immediately, so as not be set back any further." The tall German man who'd introduced himself to Alfred not thirty minutes ago was now very intimidating, and Alfred was glad that he was mysteriously very strong. He wouldn't want to meet this guy in the boxing ring.<p>

Alfred looked up from his conversation about manga he was having with Mr. Honda, or 'Japan', to hear the Northern Italian man from across the table complain.

"Gerrrrrmany, I'm huuuungry! Is there any pasta?" The small brunette man grabbed onto the somewhat-scary German, and although the blonde tried shaking him off, Alfred could see the slight softening of that stern face towards the Italian. Ah, they were friends.

"Italy, you ate before we left the room. Remember the room service we ordered last night?" Oh. Scratch that. Lovers, and adorable together. "But, if it is too much for you, there is a refreshment table over in the back."

That caught Alfred's attention. Food! He excused himself from 'Japan', and walks away to follow the Italian, and as he goes, Kiku Honda realizes that Alfred had spoken to him for the entire conversation in perfect Japanese.

Alfred saw the food and saw a plate of cookies, from which he greedily took one of each, along with pouring himself a cup of coffee before he realizes that thought the Italian has left, there is another person around the table. He looked up at a face that looks so very like his own.

"H-hello?"

"O-oh!" The man in front of him snaps up in surprise. "You actually noticed me! My name is Matthew, Matthew Williams, I'm Canada." The clone of him reaches out a hand.

Alfred, although hesitantly, takes the hand, which is shaken excitedly. "Alfred, Alfred Jones, 'Merican Rep. You look…" How to put it…

Matthew laughed nervously. "Y-yeah, I noticed." His hand moved to scratch the back of his head in a move that looked so much like Alfred's own mannerisms. He smiled, and Alfred smiled in return.

"Dude, wouldn't it be cool if we were, like, long lost brothers? I'm surprised no one mentioned my looks, we look like twins but for your curl." Subconsciously, Alfred ran a hand through his hair, trying to push his own curl back into his mop of golden hair. That had been the newest thing for him where he would hide his cowlick by making it appear as though his hair was very messy, and he realized that he'd forgotten about brushing it down the entire morning. So much for hiding it, but it was still a little less noticeable.

"People don't really notice me all that much." Matthew sighed sadly, but Alfred put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, I did, and that's all that matters. I'm sure we can be great friends!"

There was a pause. "Do you like Hockey and Baseball?"

"Where have you been all my life? Man, growin' up with you would-a been awesome!"

As he returned to his seat after a long, interesting conversation with 'Mattie', as he'd started to call him, about the pros and cons about different Hockey players and how Hockey games were more fun if one was actually playing them, the whole conversation clicking in a way that made him feel like he'd grown up with the guy, Al heard voices coming from down the hall. At first it was just impatient, almost angry murmurs between two men, but a French accent came through the wall at one point, and Alfred heard one word that the voice said very clearly.

It went right to his core.

"Angleterre…" Angleterre…that sounded so familiar…images he'd long blocked away from his nightmares swirled once again, the voice outside the hall becoming something very familiar…and he found himself being reluctantly being pulled down with a memory.

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><p><em>He was organizing his toy soldiers into lines carefully, admiring their craftsmanship with a mixture of pride and affection for the craftsman, when there was a noise in the front hall. Who could that be? Forgetting what he was doing, a soldier still clutched in his little fingers; he walked to the doorway of the study. The first thing that hit him was the smell of smoke. The second was fear.<em>

_He ran into the hall that led to the front of his house, the one the man with the hair like sunlight built for him, and stopped dead in his tracts at a soldier dressed much like his painted ones, a torch in hand pointed at the wall which had been set on fire, igniting what surrounded it, the entire hall made with flammable materials, the wood molding proving to be of no resistance to the hot flames. Fire, fire was very bad! Alfred's little mouth opened in a silent scream, and he stood there, too shocked to move. Soldiers crashed through the lovely glass windows, which Alfred had looked out of when he'd sat with the sunshine man_ _back when Alfred hadn't been alone like he'd been for so long. They shouted in words he couldn't understand, and knocked over tables and decorations that Sunshine man_ _had given him, had sent for, just for Alfred. And when they saw Alfred in the doorway, they raced for him._

_Alfred bolted down the hall, his shoes clacking hurriedly along the wood floors. Any other time, he would have delighted in the sound, not being allowed to run in the house whenever the maid was there, Sunshine man's_ _orders. But now, running for his life, he found no enjoyment in it, hearing thundering steps of boots after him. _

_He headed for the backdoor from where he could escape into the forests and fields he knew so well, only feet away, when a man stepped out of the shadows, causing him to freeze. Alfred looked up and caught the man's sneer, his eyes dark indigo, and the man's smile malicious, manic, full of a need for vengeance. _

"_So, this is little Alfred. And yet, he still wants my little Mathieu? Is willing to make my boss sign him away so he can have a finger in every pie the new world has to offer. Well, Alfred, you do look a lot alike, you and Mathieu," the man had a slight accent, his face slowly lowering as he got closer and closer to Alfred, his blonde hair falling out of his red hair ribbon. He reached out and grabbed Alfred's shirt collar, hoisting him off the ground. "But, well, how to put it? You're not Mathieu, and Angleterre will suffer the same pain he's caused me. Except his will be worse. He'll never find you. He'll never know what happened. Of course, who would? He'll only know that your gone forever, and it will be all his fault, whether he knows it or not!"_

_A small pistol glinted in the strange man's hand, the flames licking the stairwell behind them._

"_Where's your protector now? Where is he to save you? Where is your precious Angleterre?" A wild cackle escaped the man's lips. "He's back across the sea, busy signing away my little one…"_

_Alfred started to quietly sob. "Let me go..."_

"_Yes, well, unfortunately for you, that isn't happening. And it is His fault that little Mathieu won't have a brother much longer…" A shot rang out…_

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><p>Alfred's eyes met dark indigo ones as the man with blonde hair who'd been in his nightmares ever since he could remember.<p>

Behind Francis, who had stopped in the doorway abruptly, Arthur continued to hurry into the room, so focused on making it to the meeting at all that he hadn't noticed that France had stopped, causing him to slam into the Frenchman's back.

"Bloody frog, stopping just to…" As he looked up, he saw the man Francis was staring at, and now the whole room had stopped to stare at their stalled entrance.

There, in the middle of the room, was a young, slim, handsome man, with blonde hair whose color was that of wheat fields, messily, yet artistically arranged in a way only young men seemed to be able to pull off. His strangely entrancing blue eyes that Arthur had only seen on one other person were dancing behind a pair of wire rimmed, square glasses, his face one of surprise, staring at Francis for a long time until a hand appeared on his shoulder from seemingly nowhere.

Arthur watched as the man turned to look to his right, his profile also eerily familiar.

"Oh, Mattie, what's up?" As the strange man spoke, a man seemed to materialize next to him. Matthew.

"Are you ok, eh? You were sitting down, but then you suddenly just stood up and it looked like you were breathing pretty hard, do you have some sort of illness?"

"Don't worry, Matt, I'm fine. Just had a bit of a moment, but thanks, bro." The man smiled a big grin at Matthew, and gave him a thumbs-up. The two interacted as though…as though they were twins who'd grown up together.

France gasped slightly, moving past Arthur, stepping backwards. "Mon dieu, they look exactly the same." His statement was so quiet only Arthur could hear it, and suddenly a name came unbidden to his lips, a name he'd not said for so very long, his body unconsciously moving forward a couple of steps to see if his eyes were deceiving him.

"Alfred?" Those blue eyes, which had turned away from Arthur a moment ago whipped around, and focused on him, and the man in question turned that smile on him, coming forward, extending his hand like he'd obviously done with all the other representatives.

"Yep, Alfred Jones at your service! And you can call me Al, Alfred makes me sound like Batman's butler." A laugh, and Arthur felt his legs start to go weak as he managed to grasp the hand extended to him, feeling the warmth in the tan, slightly calloused hand, along with a jolt that shot up his arm. He held onto it for dear life, time slowing around him as he continued to unashamedly stare.

Alfred felt the jolt as well. "Whoa, got…a shock…there," he sounded obviously very confused, but his face didn't dim, and as he turned his head, Arthur saw it. That one piece of hair that always stuck up, his Alfred's infernal cowlick that Arthur had tried to tame for fifty years.

Francis caught him as he crumpled to the ground, and swiftly as they had entered, dragged him back out into the hallway.

Alfred, along with everyone else, was extremely confused. Ivan sat back in his chair, wondering if the sight of this Jones brought back Cold War memories for England as well, if there was some message from the man's presence that caused him to collapse.

Alfred, as oblivious as ever, said loudly "This what happens at every meeting?"

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><p><strong>What will happen, eh?<strong>

**Please review! I find the more interest I find readers to take in a certain story, the easier and quicker it is for me to write it! Tell me something that you like, something you find interesting, or make some suggestion on how I could improve! I will answer you if there is something for me to answer, so write more than "Update soon!" if you want an answer. (I don't mind if you write that either, a review is a review)**

**Fun Fact: Honey never goes bad.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to all who reviewed!**

**I own nothing.**

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><p>Arthur climbed the hill, feeling the grass under his boot. Finally, finally he'd have little Alfred in his arms after such a long time. Had he grown? It seemed like only yesterday he went from that little white gown to short pants. His heart beat faster and faster as he neared the house, his excitement growing. His pace picked up a little as he began to imagine all of what he and Alfred were going to over the next couple of months.<p>

He came to the top of the rise, and all his happiness evaporated.

The manor he'd built long ago was gone but for the stone chimney and a section of blackened bricked wall, all that was left beyond that was a charred foundation. And as he ran up to the ruins, he saw that while this happened recently; there had only been a couple of weeks of wear from the rain and wind.

His heart was in his throat, beating rapidly. "Alfred?" Maybe Alfred was still here, hiding away as he'd been doing when Arthur had first found him, although he knew it to be a folly to think such. "Alfred, where are you?"

Maybe the house was hit with lightning, and Alfred had escaped down to the village that lay two miles away. Yes, that had to be it! He could think of no other reason, and his mind never even imagined that Alfred was anything other than ok.

Arthur ran back down the slope to the horse and wagon he'd been driving filled with goods, and he swung himself quickly onto the horse, spurring the mare full speed down the path, the wagon bumping along behind him, but he didn't care. No, he was only thinking about one thing, that precious laughter, that little body running into his legs full speed shouting "Arthur!", wanting to be hugged and held.

No, that little boy had to be in the village!

The unthinkable finally entered into Arthur's mind as he rode into town.

Shells of buildings, shacks where large houses had been, half ruined, most of the town in a state of ash. No….No! It couldn't be true!

He finally spotted someone walking down the trail, and he quickly got off his horse and ran out to catch up with them.

The man started to run at the sight of him, dropping the bucket of water he'd been carrying in from the nearby creek on the ground with a splash. Arthur took off after him, quickly passing him and grabbing him by the shirt.

"Please don't kill me! I don't know what you want, but the soldiers before you got everything, sorry! Please, let me go!" The man put his hands in front of his face, and Arthur could see that his fingers had healing burns on them.

Arthur hesitated. Soldiers? "Man, what do you mean, soldiers? What's happened?" There were no English militia here, he'd tried to get a small unit here long ago to protect Alfred but the king wouldn't hear of it.

The man calmed visibly, then realized who was standing in front of him. "Lord Kirkland! I thought you were one of those French soldiers that had come from nowhere and were set on burning the village down again like they came a fortnight ago!"

A red flag went up in Arthur's mind. "French soldiers? The war is over! Where's Alfred, where's my housekeeper?" His voice sounded panicky and desperate, and Arthur didn't care for once about showing weakness to this human.

"They both disappeared in the chaos of that night. Your housekeeper, I remember her running down the path to little Alfred's, trying to beat the soldiers, but I think someone grabbed her." The man sighed sadly. "the few of us villagers who'd not run off or moved off went to the manor house soon after, and found it was gone, little Alfred gone. We—Mr. Kirkland? Lord Kirkland, are you quite all right?"

Arthur no longer heard the man. His fears were realized, and he turned right around and hopped back on his horse.

He once again was at the ruins, searching the forests and fields, calling out Alfred's name, looking for any sign of him. Eventually, he came back to the house, and began digging around for the…the body if there was one.

Arthur's life was crumbling around him, his happiness gone. His little joy was…was most likely gone. Soldiers. French soldiers. Yet during all of the American theater of the Seven Years War, the war had never come this far into Massachusetts colony, that was why his little Alfred had been safe. Had France…no, no country would dare kill another for no reason. And France had disappeared, but Matthew had said he'd quickly visited, but Arthur had checked up on that. Apparently France had turned tail and sailed away back to his country about two weeks before Arthur ever had landed.

Arthur, in his thoughts, stumbled over something, and picked it up. It was towards the back of the room, and Arthur's eyes widened. It was the metal piece to a gun. He dropped it in disgust. There had never been a gun in this house except a rifle by the front door. Soldiers had been here all right. He moved on to find some clue to Alfred's fate.

At the very edge of the ruins, Arthur once again found clues, except these had fallen out of the flames.

He picked up the little buckle that had been on Alfred's shoe. He should know, he sent them over for the lad right after peace talks began with a letter. Then, hidden underneath that, he found the splintered bottom half of some wooden thing, thinking it to be the end of a broom until he noticed red and blue paint under soot and…gunpowder?

Half a toy soldier. He'd know his own craftsmanship from anywhere.

It was only then that he let himself break down, and he began to sob, there in the ash.

"Monsieur Kirkland! You're back!" Arthur ignored the French maid as he came into the house in Canada, her flustered hands flapping around, somehow taking his coat. He marched up to the bedroom he'd not left a month prior, going to take a nap even though he knew he wouldn't really sleep and would end up staring at the ceiling for hours.

As he lay there fully clothed, he briefly looked down from the ceiling to see the little Alfred look-a-like. To think, this boy lived while his was…

"Arthur, you're back very soon. Did you finish your visit with the other little boy?"

The quiet French set him off. Kinsmen of this boy possibly had a hand in Alfred's death. This was all the French's fault! "GET OUT!" He bellowed at the boy, and watched as the lad burst into tears and disappeared in a hurry. Guilt mixed in with the terrible grief he felt, and he got up after a while to find the boy.

He finally had to call out for him, unable to locate him on his own. Eventually he spotted back in his hiding spot by the stairs. He held open his arms. "I'm sorry, Matthew." The boy rushed into his arms, whispering fervently that he was sorry for whatever he'd done to anger Arthur.

For a moment, Arthur imagined that this was Alfred in his arms, and he gripped the boy tighter, as if he was trying to prevent Alfred from being taken from him once again. When Matthew pulled away at last, though, Arthur found the disappointment at the fact that this still wasn't Alfred to be almost as painful as really losing him was.

"I'm sorry, Matthew, so sorry." He brushed back hair from the boy's forehead, the hair a slightly different color than Alfred's had been…

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><p>France was shaking him back to reality, and Arthur felt tears on his cheeks.<p>

"Arthur, Arthur that wasn't who you thought you saw." The words were desperate and pleading. "Arthur, snap out of it!"

Arthur finally pulled himself out of his reverie to realize they were sitting on the floor in the hallway of the Conference building of the United Nations. "Did I imagine that his name was Alfred or that fact that he had the same piece of hair that stuck up at a funny angle?" A whisper, a disbelieving tone, the shock still rife in his system.

"Neither, but Arthur, Alfred is dead." The Frenchman's voice was adamant, determined.

"How would you know? You said in the official inquiry long ago that you found out after the fact from your men what happened after they disobeyed orders. You said you got their statements. We both were in Quebec for the whole ordeal, you coming over from France as soon as you'd heard." Arthur paused. "They could…could have not carried out the job all the way…"

France bit his lip. Once again, he found himself not for the first time ensnared in his own lies, but he needed to protect himself at all costs. That meant the web of lies had to become even more tangled.

"I have a confession to make."

"Confession?" Arthur's voice had sounded surprisingly hollow the entire conversation, like he was fully detached from his emotions when they were internally washing over him like waves so he couldn't breath.

"I was in Quebec the whole time. That was why the boat ride was so fast. You remember remarking about that? That you'd never seen a faster trip. I was hiding in a nearby village when you visited Mathieu and came back as soon as you left, hence the surprise when you returned so early. But I saw with my own eyes that your little one was gone." So…so the boat they said he'd ridden out on…that had been fake?

Arthur's head snapped up. "I…You saw what they did?"

"I could not bring myself to tell you, I thought you would hate me for something I wasn't able to stop."

"What they did…"

"He was gone. Very gone." Francis put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, the Brit too upset by the man in the room only a couple of feet away to push his old rival away. "That isn't the same boy you lost, Angleterre."

"But…how…why do they look so similar? Francis…" Arthur was on the edge of hyperventilating, his voice so pleading, and Francis couldn't really answer him, not sure as to why the man in the room looked like a dead boy either. Although he'd never tell anyone what he'd done, he'd seen the boy, bleeding, supposedly dead, with his own eyes. He'd LEFT him in the inferno. He'd checked the ruins afterward, and again, there had been no sign of the boy, the whole 'I've seen the body' being his cover story. But there was his clone, alive and well in the other room, and it wasn't Matthew for once.

Whenever Matthew had been little and had started to cry, his face would take on that same look little Alfred's face had when Francis had done the unthinkable to that little boy, and Francis would once again be reminded of the thing he'd done in pure, uncontrollable rage. He had had to live with his actions for years, and even though Arthur didn't know it, Francis owed it to him to take care of him. So when he could offer no comfort, Francis felt as if he'd once again done Arthur wrong.

"Well, I have no idea. He has the same name, the same appearance, although the man in there is at least out of adolescence. I always wondered why Alfred had been killed. We nations have been shot many times before, yet have always survived the most grievous of injuries." Talking reasonably would calm Arthur down. It always had.

"He…he was simply a colony, the…the government structure had been quite…weak at the time when he was…he was…"

"Yes! But his government system recovered, so instead of turning out like Rome or Germania and dying off or disappearing like Holy Rome…" Germany's voice was easily picked out of the noisy conference room, and Francis remembered another little boy he'd done wrong, and that Italy and Germany had no idea that their love affair now was not their first together.

"What if…if he would of come back, been born again?" Arthur sounded desperately hopeful, and Francis didn't want to disagree with him, but he had to smother that wild hope. Arthur couldn't handle much more disappointment in life.

"I…I don't know. I think we should watch him and keep an open mind, but Angleterre, we should not mention this to him or anyone. Better to be wrong and have no one know than to be wrong and have to go through more pain." Also, Francis needed to know if this "Alfred" had any memories of what had befallen him in previous lives. Arthur could never know. Francis would do anything to prevent anyone from finding out his dirty little secret that went against all the unspeakable rules the nations had.

They made a plan to watch Alfred, and Francis warned Arthur sternly. "That man is not your Alfred. Don't believe for a moment he is. Don't get your hopes up. And don't treat him like Alfred. Treat him like Al Jones, the new representative of America. I don't want you to be hurt again."

"I know, Francis. Now come on, we have a meeting, and I'll be damned if all that running we did this morning had been for naught." Francis smiled as he heard Arthur whisper "all the bloody frog's fault in the first place" under his breath. Arthur had certainly calmed down, but if the Brit's past emotional rollercoaster was anything to go by, this wouldn't be the last hyperventilating that Arthur would be having this week. In fact, France half expected, and indeed, would hardly be surprised, if all the Brit's composure would evaporate upon seeing Alfred Jones once more. But, eh, C'est la vie.

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><p>Alfred was having the time of his life. His speech on something or other had been really boring, so he'd added his own touch to it, and by the people's expressions around the table it was far from boring.<p>

A hand went up as he finished drawing the last point on the white board with a blue dry-erase marker.

"Mr. Jones, how would you propose we make food healthier and more nutritious using hamburgers as the staple food? I see no statistical nor researched facts or benefits from eating only hamburgers. And in countries where cow is sacred, how would we feed those populations?"

Alfred opened his mouth to answer when the Russian guy whose name he'd gotten wrong spoke up.

"It is just another stupid American idea that will never work. After all, this recession is all their fault."

Alfred, normally a pretty easy going guy even if he was a bit jumpy and excited all the time or slightly depressed (depending on the company and whether or not there was ice cream present), felt his blood begin to boil.

"Well, Mr. Bragging-ski, I would like to de—" _'diplomat, diplomat, diplomat, diplomat…that's what you are, Alfred, don't let your temper get the better of yourself!'_

"It is Braginski, twice you have messed up my name, as complies with my theory on American intelligence, and I would also like to point out that the hamburger is what contributed to the obesity issue in—" Russia was cut off as Alfred jumped to slide down the table to tackle him and the big man of a nation was thrown back in his chair as a pair of remarkably strong hands came around his neck, papers scattering wildly around the two of them, the room going deadly silent in shock before erupting in chaos, Francis and Arthur slipping in unnoticed.

"GET MR. JONES OFF RUSSIA BEFORE HE GETS HURT!" Came a shout from Germany, but it was too late. A fist slammed into Alfred's face, sending him flying backwards, toppling over Japan, Lithuania and some sleeping guy with a cat on his head to crash into the wall, leaving a gaping hole as he toppled into the hallway, his body having created a second "door" to the conference room.

The whole room went very quiet once more. None of the nations expected for the new representative to be killed by the first meeting. Would they still be allowed in New York after this?

Russia was pulled from the floor by his sister, and he yanked his arm away from her. Crazy scary Belarus, just what he needed right now with everyone about to blame him for another injury to a diplomat. But the reaction, the strength the man had used, the way he'd lept across the table, it all confirmed Ivan's suspicions. He'd only said those things to get a rise out of the obviously extremely patriotic man, and he had the answer to his question. That man had been trained for something else long before he ever was made into a diplomat.

He reached up to fix his scarf after brushing off his person only to discover a horrible truth. It was no longer around his neck.

"HA! I got your stupid scarf, ya commie bastard!" There was Jones, bleeding lip and sporting a black eye, but alive and standing, holding his precious scarf. Alfred smirked at the Russian's expression of horror. Of course, it would have taken an idiot not to induce that Ivan was very attached to this piece of clothing, the way his hands petted it subconsciously or how the skin underneath it had been even more white than the rest of the Russian's body.

But he didn't realize how attached the man was until once again he felt pain, but this time was somewhat ready to fight back.

Their head to head had begun, and both instantly realized that the other was more formidable than originally thought, creating more questions for Ivan and causing more unease for Alfred than previously expected.

Adam Jones walked into the conference room a half an hour later on a noise complaint, and tsked at the new hole in the newly patched wall. But then when he looked inside the room itself, he found it to look like a bomb had gone off, the nations all in a flurry of activity, all watching a fight between two figures, the albino one taking bets from various nations as many urged the battle on. And in the middle of it all, was his uncle Alfred, taking on a Russian twice his size in what looked to be a surprisingly fair match. He turned around at the sound of his childhood friend's snicker, and saw Jason in the doorway.

"Wow, your uncle Alfred always seems to be in the middle of everything that happens in this country."

Adam couldn't agree more.

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><p><strong>Here you go! Please Review, it makes my day and I make an effort to answer as many as I can! Tell me any comments, observations or questions you have!<strong>

**Fun Fact: One historian once believed that both Atlantis and the Garden of Eden were located in Sweden.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Here is the next installment of the thrilling, awe-inspiring fanfiction that has rocked the-... who am I kidding?**

**I own nothing ^^ **

**oh, and there are some little tiny OC characters in there, meh, they just help push the story along.**

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><p>Alfred ran down into town, two little children running after him, the three of them laughing as they pounded down the dirt path. He didn't care if thirteen was too old to run around with little kids, they were so much better than adults who always were correcting and glaring.<p>

John and Mary were trying to catch him, their little legs pumping as their mother shouted after the three of them not to get their clothes dirty. Alfred smiled back at his grown up sister Anna, and slowed down so his niece and nephew could latch onto his pant legs.

"We got you, Uncle Alfred!"

"Yeah, Uncle Al!"

The two cheery faces smiled up at him, and Alfred bent down to look the twins in the eye. "You sure did! When did you get so fast?" Alfred, of course, wasn't blind to the hero-worship that his two little family members favored him with, and he would play with them for hours or be their role-model when Anna needed him to be. There wasn't any place he'd rather be than the old family house with Anna and her husband and kids.

As their mother and father approached, the two scampered off again, and Alfred stood back up and smiled even wider. Today was going to be a fun day in town!

It was a small town, but prosperous, full of hardworking folk who'd carved out a living here for over seventy years, way before Alfred ever came here. But now, today, in the year of 1775, it was more civilized than any neighboring town within twenty miles, its largest rival suffering a devastating fire about twenty years back during the old French and Indian war.

As Alfred scanned a newspaper in the printer's front window, he read a line that stopped him.

_**REBELLION! WAR! BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL LEADS TO 1500 CASUALTIES!**_

Alfred shivered as he remembered an incident that had happened week ago. He'd been reading the bible to Anna as she'd sown Mary a new gown while the twins had been napping. He'd started on a psalm when his throat constricted and he suddenly couldn't breathe, his ears filling with foreign sounds of gunshots, men screaming, of cannons, and a sharp pain bloomed in his shoulder causing him to suck in a gasp, and then everything had gone dark, leading him to dream about a hill and men fighting. Then, at about two hours later, he'd awoke to find himself in bed, Anna with a towel on his forehead.

Now, as he looked at the newspaper, he somehow got the feeling that what he'd seen had been…that.

Before he could think much more on the paper, a head poked out of the printer's shop. One of his friends he'd met the few times he'd been to the school house for lessons (Anna had taught him most of what he needed to know) called out his name, and ran up to him.

"Alfie!"

"Johnny! You got yourself the apprenticeship!"

Johnny scoffed. "Wasn't that hard, what with the news of war. Business is picking up as the newspapers sell quicker than we can lay the type set onto the press! When will you look for one?"

"Are you pulling my leg? Anna and Paul won't let me be apprenticed for reasons beyond me. It's been a few weeks since I've clapped my eyes onto anything besides the old homestead. They want to keep me close to home. But I'm ok, yah know?"

Johnny nodded, and then stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. With this war, all the older boys will get called up. I can see why your sister wants to keep you out of town." Johnny always knew the scoop on everything, and being fifteen, seemed to Alfred like a know-all guy, always knowing politics and what would come of what. "She wants to keep you away from the recruiters. I hear they take anyone who can pass as legal age for the Patriots, or god forbid, Regulars."

Alfred nodded. They walked on, discussing what they would do if they ever had to fight in the army. Alfred said that he'd be the bravest of them all. Johnny said he'd try and stay alive, and be happy with that. They parted ways when the master Johnny was apprenticed to called out after his charge, and Alfred kept on walking, thinking about how it would be to fight in a war.

As he continued down the street, his eyes caught sight of Anna's husband Paul talking in hushed tones with one of his friends, the man's young daughter of about ten holding his hand. Her curls were pinned back, and her bonnet in place, her face one of boredom, and she interrupted her father to tell him that she didn't appreciate this dallying while her mother was waiting for turnips to cook dinner. Instead of being mad, like Alfred would have imagined the father to be, the somber conversation turned into a light hearted one as he simply laughed and wrapped a proud arm around his child.

"My little Sarah, just like her mother, she is!"

The girl huffed, although she seemed to be just as amused with her father as he was of her. Alfred suddenly locked eyes with her lively gray eyes as he came to stand next to Paul, and his heart skipped a beat. _'Sarah…she has such lovely eyes'_

The next months saw recruiting and a heating of tensions. The king had yet to put down the revolution, and now people began to wonder whether or not this was really going to more than just a Scots-Irish, Tobacco gentry, and New Englander battle against 'tyranny' that would last for a couple of months before being quashed. Alfred somehow found himself out growing his clothes, and very strange things began to happen.

He was reading the bible to Anna one day when his voice cracked. He stopped mid 1 Corinthians, and the two of them exchanged a glance before Anna broke out in a grin.

"Alfred, you're becoming a man at last!"

But his growing was not a happy experience all the time as he found himself more and more antsy to be a part of this battle.

As the declaration was read to all in the town August 1776, Alfred found the words to ring true, and started to speak the words of the document before they were even read, causing many to look upon him with strange expressions. Suddenly he NEEDED to be a part of this war, and Anna wouldn't hear of it.

"Alfred, you are barely more than a child! You can't run after the army and believe that you can go off and fight the king's men!"

"I am far older than you, and you know it Anna! I don't even look like a child anymore! I could get in, I could pass as legal, and you know it! I could be a drummer at the very least, SOMETHING! I could do something that didn't have to do with a gun, just let me help!"

Anna shook her head, and returned to her work. "No. And while the recruiters are there, we shall not go into town or will leave you behind to go."

It was a couple months later, after the fifth or sixth episode of seeing the yelling, screaming, dying men, and strange scars beginning to appear on his body, Alfred could think of nothing besides the war that was raging only miles away. He knew from overhearing Anna and her husband that the army regiment made up of members from town had left that morning down the east road, and he made up his mind.

He slung the rucksack over his shoulder, filled with half a loaf of bread and some cheese along with his spare set of clothes, and left a note on the kitchen table before slipping out the back door and running through the fields towards town and the small regiment that had headed of to the east, his face determinedly looking ahead into the early morning light.

He felt a little guilt as he pulled his warm jacket around his shoulders. He would make Anna very upset, and they would probably try and come after him, but Alfred wasn't going to sit around like he'd done for the past twenty some odd years. He patted the little broken soldier in his pocket.

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><p>Ivan circled around his opponent, his face eager, and Alfred's mirrored his. There was a lot of tension in this circling, both of the fighters blocking out everyone else to focus on the other. Alfred then moved slightly to the right, and Ivan almost laughed aloud. This man was an amateur! He'd just indicated his move, what a stupid mortal—<p>

The blow hit the side of his head and Ivan stumbled, his eyes widening. No. No, that had not just happened. The man had faked him out, gotten under his guard…and somehow had hit him before he'd even caught on. So, Russia did what his anger told him to do, for once not coldly and calculatingly planning. He charged right into Alfred, kneeing him in the gut, hearing the grunt before Alfred rolled away.

"Fair is fair, a blow for a blow, right comrade?" Ivan resumed his position, and Alfred his, the circle of nations swarming around them in a tight circle of a fighting ring.

"I've been wrestling jocks like you since I was a kid!"

"I'm guessing you haven't had many victories, da?" Ivan smirked, and Alfred returned it with one of his own.

"I might not always win the first time, but in the end, my opponent always knows that he's lost." And with that, Alfred stood up to his full height out of his fighting stance and crossed his arms, and they both saw the ring parting for a man slightly smaller than Alfred with brown hair but the exact same blue eyes.

Alfred allowed Adam to pull him out into the hallway and into the elevator.

Alfred huffed. "How long did I last?"

Adam looked at his Rolex watch. "Thirty minutes longer than expected."

"And the damage?"

"You went a little over budget with the new hole in the wall, but pretty good. I was expecting you to level the place."

Alfred sighed, and leaned against the wall of the elevator tiredly. "Why again does the government want me to do this? I knew you didn't expect much of me, but really?"

"Because you're one of them, we're almost sure of it. And because with that fight, you proved yourself to be of strong opinion, and we might actually get a say in those meetings for once."

"And how long is this meeting/conference going to take?" Alfred noticed his briefcase was missing, but he'd seen Jason out of the corner of his eye during his little spat with the Russian.

"Two more days."

"UGHHH! Well, I'm off to go sleep before my shift."

His nephew sent him a strange look. "You have so much money saved up and yet you work at some bar as a waiter when you could come live with me and the wife or…"

"Adam, I _like _waiting on tables, being a bartender, and playing the piano when there aren't any drunk guys with guitars around."

The other Jones shook his head, then turned and went back into the elevator as Alfred walked out of the lobby and into the sun of New York City.

"Ah, time for lunch!"

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><p>Arthur found his seat and the meeting continued, but he noticed that the seat that was reserved for the American representative was filled by a brown haired man who had the exact same eyes as Al…Jones. The exact eyes that Jones had.<p>

He recalled the offer he was supposed to offer the American rep, and thought about how he could use that to find out more about…Jones.

During one of the breaks, he made his move, walking up to the man who'd intercepted the fight and pushed …Jones out into the hall and out of the meeting for the day.

"Mr…er, sir, I didn't catch your name."

"Adam Jones, pleased to meet you, Mr. Kirkland." They shook hands, and Arthur pondered the fact that the two had the same name. Seeing the bemused look, Jones number two continued. "I'm Alfred's nephew." Nephew? This man looked older than…

"Ah…" Arthur ignored the way his heart clenched at the word "Alfred". "I was wondering if I might reach him today, I need to talk to him about something. Could you possibly give me his address so I might speak with him privately about matters of interest?"

The young man nodded. He must have some idea what this was about, the American government had been notified, it was just courtesy to ask the representative himself, seeing as he could decline if he so wished.

After the meeting, Arthur headed back to his hotel to eat first, having been told by the…nephew that Alfr…Jones was taking a nap.

He changed into a sweater vest and nice brown slacks to make the visit, although he was warned that Jones was working tonight. Did he have an office in his home? He looked at the address he had in his hand as he exited the luxury hotel with a small bag slung over his shoulders with some paperwork.

This whole nephew thing had thrown Arthur off, but as he thought more about it, he began to rationalize.

This might not be Alfred. They only looked, talked and were called the same. There were differences between the two. And if this was Alfred, and he'd been 'reborn', he was likely to have a family, and it was very possible for him to be a young sibling who's brother or sister had had the chance to have kids before he was born.

Arthur got out of the taxi, the autumn air around him crisp, and he was a little shocked by what he saw.

He'd not really been paying any attention to what the taxi had been driving through, and he had not expected to see that a delegate of the United Nations lived on top of…a bar?

Hesitantly, he entered, and found his ears soon assaulted by noise.

"BABY UUUUURRRRRR A FAAAAAAOUUUURRRRR WUUUUUURRRRKKAH!"

It was a fairly large bar filled with young to middle aged people of a lively (and drunk) sort of manner, and was very dark as compared to the outside. As Arthur's eyes adjusted, he found that there was a dance floor complete with a wacky looking disco ball, and the traditional bar counter and stage, a few tables off to the side. It looked well taken care of and prosperous, but…loud.

A drunken group was huddled around a microphone, and an exhausted looking waiter passed by muttering "damn karaoke night. I'm going to kill Al for suggesting this next time I get the chance."

Arthur caught up with the waiter, having to push his way distastefully through intoxicated drunken people, and got his attention.

"Do you know where I can find Alfred Jones?"

The man's eyes traveled up and down as they checked Arthur out, making him uncomfortable before the waiter replied. "Your name wouldn't be Trevor, would it?"

"No…Arthur Kirkland. Why?"

"No reason. Back room, on his break, go through the arch, there'll be a door."

"Wait…he works here? I thought he lived in the apartment abo—"

The waiter rolled his eyes. "Both, and if he wants his rightful share of the tips, he better come back before closing time." And with that, the man stalked off.

Arthur did as he'd been instructed, and felt his heart thud in his chest. This was it. Either the unbelievable was true or he'd go drink himself right back into the miserable state he'd lived in off and on for two hundred fifty years.

He went through some sort of arch, streamers hanging down to conceal a door leading to a hall with three other doors, all marked.

"Exit", "Private", and "Staff Only" greeted him. He went to the staff one and knocked gently on the wooden surface. A head peeked out for a flash, then there was a hand on his arm and he was dragged quickly into the room, barely standing up straight.

He dusted himself off before looking up into two brilliant and vaguely familiar blue eyes.

Ivan heard over the walkie-talkie's static and the club's noise that the camera was in place. Estonia had done well, he would refrain from hitting him for the next two days to show that he approved. Okay, maybe one little fist to the gut, but that was it. He always could beat Latvia up afterwards if the little one didn't get out of the conference room before him.

Mental note, put glue on Latvia's chair, da!

This "Alfred Jones" had given many of the nations a real start. He'd not missed Arthur's shock nor France's look of distrust and…fear? Yes, he knew that look in others' eyes very well, and there was nothing else that strange gleam could be.

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><p>Ivan himself had not been expecting Jones to be privy to his old spy name, and that little fight had been to gauge what Jones had been after. If he'd killed him without much of a fight, he would just be some government worker who had been fingering around in files he shouldn't be. But the fight had been an upset.<p>

Jones knew exactly how to fake Ivan out. And he moved with such trained and precise quickness that Ivan no longer had any doubt that this was no normal diplomat. He would find out what Jones knew and what he wanted, or kill him before he became much of a trouble.

Yes, Ivan Braginski was expecting a game to start very soon, one that he couldn't be happier to participate in, seeing as the world had become far to peaceful and soft lately. Yes, here was his chance to have fun, like in the old days.

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><p><strong>Ivan smells something up. Does Alfred have more secrets in his past?<strong>

**Fun Fact: The Clarinet is able to play it's higher octave notes by actually over blowing other notes to reverberate into a higher pitch (and I believe the pitch is always a fifth up, so a low F makes for a high C when you push down the octave key)**


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